I'll Stand By You
by GiraffeGirl
Summary: They'll be there for them, as long as they need them. Doctor WhoTorchwood oneshot song fic. Rose9, GwenJack, Martha10. One minor spoiler for DW Series 1 only. Rated for one swear word.


**One day I'll write a cheerful one-shot! I'm certain of it, it will happen! I'm going to work on it. First time I've written a Martha fan-fic, even if it is only a little bit at the end. This was brought about by watching a Torchwood video on youtube set to "I think we're alone now" dne by Girls Aloud, which made me start listening to their greatest hits, which brought me to this song. Actually originally by The Pretenders, and I remember almost crying to this with my friend the day after Doomsday first aired. I did have an idea for each of the three sections being a separate chapter with the whole song applied to each of them, but that fell flat. This works a bit better, shows the similarities beween the three women.**

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* * *

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_Oh why you look so sad__?  
Tears are in your eyes._

_Come and on and come to me now._

"This is…" A light breeze ruffles Rose's hair as she tilts her head back to catch as much sun as possible. She searches for the right word, the one that will bring a smile back to his face which has seemed so sad recently. "Fantastic." She looks over to check his reaction, but his face has barely moved. He catches her eye and a smile appears, a forced smile that doesn't show any teeth and barely fills in the prominent laughter lines on his cheeks. It seems more a smile to please her than anything else.

Rose rolls over, figuring it's about time her back got some sun anyway.

"We're a lot nearer the sun here you know," he speaks finally, but he doesn't look at her as he gazes away over the seemingly limitless beach he's brought her to. Well, maybe desert would be a more appropriate word, seeing as, according to him, the last time this place saw any water, sea or otherwise, was two thousand years ago. That would explain the distinct lack of other people, Rose supposes. Or whatever once inhabited this planet. She needs to remember that differentiation, the strange little language nuances that she once wouldn't have given a second thought to. That she wouldn't have _needed_ to give a second thought to. _"So when it says guests does it mean people?" "Depends what you mean by people." "I mean people, what do you mean?" "Aliens."_

"I know," she replies, glancing up at that strangely mesmerising blood red sun in the pink sky. "It's lovely." She doesn't think she could get further away from normal life. Her old life, she means, because what's the definition of normal? She's seen so much in the last however long they've been travelling. Since she met him. Normal is all relative.

"I didn't mean that." He reaches into a pocket of that absurd leather coat and throws her a bottle of sun tan lotion.

Rose looks at it, her eyebrows raised. "What are you, my mum? If we're that much closer, I think it'll take a bit more than factor 5, don't you?" She doesn't like to point out that putting the lotion on her own back might be a bit tricky and even after sharing the same space as him for so long… well, she's careful not to push her luck. She's seen what he'll do to someone who goes a step too far and upsets him. She doesn't want to get left behind, even if she hasn't got a hole in her head like Adam.

"Aren't you hot in that jacket?" she asks. On her part, as soon as they arrived here and she felt the sweltering heat, she ran to change out of her thick jeans and zip-up top and re-emerged with sunglasses balanced on her head and wearing a black vest top and short denim skirt. He'd raised his eyebrows at her outfit, but not before Rose had seen him look startled, the faintest colour of pink just touching his cheeks.

"What?" she'd asked, tongue poking out of her mouth teasingly, loving the way he seemed unable to reply straight away.

Finally he managed to get the words out. "You really did come prepared," was all he'd say.

Now he tugs at the battered leather. "I'm fine," he says, but still gazes out across the sand, like somewhere, just over the horizon, there's something he's looking for, has been looking for forever, and it never quite topples over the horizon into the shimmering sunlight.

Rose rests her head on her hand, her elbow digging into the sand. It's honestly one of the most gorgeous places she's ever been to; her once-yearly trip to Wales with her mum had never managed to produce as much sun as this, and even that one school trip to France had failed to show her a beach as beautiful or clean as this. She supposes that's what two thousand years of desolation will do for somewhere; no one left to litter the place. Despite all that though, and the hot sun beating down and the breeze which stops it becoming oppressive… despite all of that, he looks sad. So sad, and lonely and a thousand other emotions that when they all collide together in his face, it makes her feel as though the sun's gone in and storm clouds are gathering.

"What's wrong?" she asks in a small voice, sure she won't get an answer. He's the expert at evading answers, changing the subject or even just staying silent. If he was any other man, she'd have got much more annoyed by this much earlier. She'd think he was hiding something. With him though… oh she knows he's hiding a lot but she almost expects it now. And she doesn't hate him for it. It only makes her worry more. About him.

"Nothing."

She rolls her eyes. "There's a surprise." He glances over and she swears for an instant that she can see tears in his eyes, their piercing blue for a moment turning watery and pale. He blinks and the tears vanish. Maybe it was a mirage. But she knows it wasn't. "I know you're lying."

He leans back from the sitting position he's been in all along, mock-nonchalance, resting on his elbows. He cuts an odd figure, stretched out like he's sunbathing, but fully dressed in dark trousers, a maroon jumper and, of course, he beloved jacket. His one concession to the unusually hot atmosphere on this planet has been to remove his shoes and socks.

"And how would you know that?" He's humouring her, like a child. As if he can't possibly believe she would be able to see through him like that.

"Because I used to do that too."

_Don't be ashamed to cry_

_Let me see you through_

_Cause I've seen the dark side too._

He raises his eyebrows at her, clearly surprised. Rose wonders what he's imagined her old life was like. She knows what he thinks of humans in general: stupid apes who spend their lives eating and working and sleeping. He says it so disparagingly every time, and yet… Rose can't help noticing that he keeps saving them. That he doesn't seem able to stay away from them for long. The Time Lord doth protest too much.

But her real life. He knows where she works… well, worked until he blew it up. If he knew how much work Jackie had put into getting her that job in the first place… actually, who's she kidding, it wouldn't make him think twice before he did it the next time. He's met her mum and Mickey. And all the aunts and uncles, though if Rose is honest, even she could have done without that. He's seen her flat. But he doesn't know it all, no matter how much he thinks he does. And she isn't sure how to begin now.

When she doesn't reply immediately, his gaze returns to the horizon. "What are you trying to prove, Rose?"

"Nothing!" She feels a stab of hatred towards him for a split second. She gets them still sometimes, like she felt on that first night. Upset and spitting angry: _"Mickey! I'll have to tell his mother he's dead, and you just went and forgot him, again!"_

He gives her another look, a knowing look. God, he's so much older than her. Even without thinking about how he looks, those eyes give him away. He's seen so much more than he'll ever tell her, than she could ever begin to comprehend.

"I just…" She traces patterns in the sand with her finger. "I just meant… it's alright to lie, there's nothing wrong with it, I just think…"

He waits patiently.

"I just think that sometimes you should let it out, you should talk about it. Because crying's good too." She looks across at him, unsure if she's gone too far. Maybe crying isn't something his people do.

"Is it?" He doesn't sound sure. Or maybe he's just pushing her, asking her to question herself. He does that, asks questions to make her see things anew, justify what she's say. Sometimes Rose feels like she's back in school again, where her favourite teacher, Mr Baker, English, used to question everything the students said to get them to back their arguments up. Her mind is working quite like that though. She's too concerned.

"Yes!"

"But what good does crying do?"

Rose shrugs, grabbing at anything she can to explain her way out of it. Then she realises that the answer, the true answer, is just on the tip of her tongue. "Because I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"Who says I want your help?"

"Then why did you invite me along then?" Rose shoots him an angry look, challenging him this time.

He looks surprised; maybe he's not used to having his authority questioned. It certainly seemed like that when he was holding that gun up at the Dalek, about to press the trigger. He'd been angry, furious, ready to do anything to relieve his own conscience. He'd been out of control and for the first time since meeting him, Rose had been scared of him. Throughout everything else, she'd felt like he was on her side, that at least whatever he was doing was the right thing. It was then she'd realised that everyone has the potential for good and bad. Even him.

Rose is about to apologise for her outburst, scared that maybe she's crossed the line, asked a question she shouldn't. Maybe he thinks she doesn't want to be there after all, that that's why she's questioning him.

"You said you used to lie."

She shrugs. "Everyone does."

"You said it like you were thinking of something specific though."

Rose trickles sand through her fingers. She hasn't done this since she was a kid. She's tried not to think about what she's about to tell him since it happened. As she relates the story, as matter-of-factly as possible, she can taste something horrible in her mouth, disgust and shame.

"When I was sixteen, I had this boyfriend. He was a bit older than me." Jimmy Stone, wannabe rock-god. He'd certainly had the tight jeans and the wandering eye of a megastar. "Mum and Mickey warned me about him."

"But you still went after him." He speaks like it's an obvious conclusion, like there was no other possible outcome. Like he wouldn't expect any less of her.

She nods. "It didn't last long. He didn't have much use for me after he'd cleared out my savings. And I mean, I was only sixteen. I guess I cramped his style." She'd certainly got in the way at gigs; no networking lead guitarist wanted a girlfriend hanging on his arm whilst he tried to charm the girls in some scummy bar. She smiles bitterly, creating a mound of sand only to watch it slip away as a light breeze ruffled the surface of the planet. "It was horrible, living with him. His flat was even smaller than ours. Than Mickey's even. And he used to have all his friends round till stupid times of night. They used to drink so much." She can see it now like she's looking down on it, can see the men lounging round, laughing at crude jokes, and dropping empty beer cans onto the floor. She can smell the stale odour of sweat and alcohol and pot. And she can see herself, a little girl so out of place in this setting, playing adult's games and always losing. "I hated it."

"But you kept telling your mum it was wonderful."

Rose looks up and sees he understands. Maybe what's happened to her isn't as awful as what happened to him, but he knows how it feels. "I've never felt so alone," she says softly.

He gives a heavy sigh, so big that his entire body shifts in the sand, sending small rivulets coursing down around him. "Me too."

_When the night falls on you,_

_You don't know what to do._

_Nothing you confess_

_Could make me love you less._

They sit in silence for a few moments. It's not awkward though; Rose remembers times with Mickey when they'll sit for ages without talking, and whilst her boyfriend rarely notices, she finds her attention wandering, thinking that this shouldn't be how it is. This is different.

"What happened?"

He looks across at her and doesn't need to ask what she's talking about. He doesn't answer though.

"I mean, you said they're all gone. But-"

"I killed them."

She blinks, taken aback by the sudden burst of such shocking information when he's been so reticent in the week or so since they left Van Statten's museum. When she looks back at him, she sees those tears again, glistening in his eyes as he stares right at her. He isn't hiding them. He's holding them back, but he's not turning away. He looks so small suddenly, as though with one word she could crush him. That scares her more than seeing him out of control, though she supposes this is a loss of control too.

"Is that a problem?"

He's a murderer. A mass murderer, he's committed genocide. He's killed his whole race, his family, his friends. She should loathe him. That's what you should feel for people like him… or aliens, whatever. You should detest them and fear them and shun them. That's what you should do.

She shakes her head. "No."

_I'll stand by you._

_I'll stand by you._

_Won't let nobody hurt you._

_I'll stand by you.

* * *

_

_So if you're mad, get mad_

_Don't hold it all inside._

_Come on and talk to me now. _

"Gwen? Pub?"

Gwen turns as Owen calls her name and he makes a motion with his hand as though he's bring a glass up to his mouth. The universal symbol for drink. She hesitates.

"Oh come on, it's been a long day!" Owen cajoles.

Gwen wavers. It has indeed been a long day, and not a particularly good one. It started off with Jack behaving like a mad man, even more so than usual, convinced there was some alien tech about that they just had to find. It had taken hours of trawling the streets in the driving rain that Cardiff has been treated to for the last few days. Even when Toshiko insisted that there was nothing on her scanners, he'd still persisted. And they'd followed because that was what they did. The bad weather and the dodgy areas they found themselves searching combined to mean that Ianto was unable to pass the message onto them until they trailed back into the Hub, dripping wet and craving an easy day.

It wasn't to be. Within minutes they were all back in the SUV, dashing across Cardiff after a report of a Weevil on the loose. They caught up with it eventually, but not before some poor girl had her throat ripped out. No matter how often Gwen sees scenes like that, bodies lying in back alleys in a pool of blood, she'll never be able to shrug it off the way Owen seems to. Even thinking about it now brings back the stench of death that hung around Kerry Jones's body and makes Gwen want to gag. They'd come back to the Hub in even lower spirits than before, discarding dripping clothes and towel-drying their hair, before beginning the now routine but still arduous process of securing the Weevil and building a cover story up. Jack had disappeared off somewhere within the basement offices after helping to lock up the Weevil. He'd been AWOL for nearly three hours.

A drink is just what she could do with. Rhys has gone out tonight, on a boys' night. If she were to go home, she'd only be spending the night alone, which sort of defeats the object in going home at all. So really, she has no excuse for not picking her coat up from where they're all piled up and joining Owen, Toshiko and Ianto for a pint or two in a local pub.

No excuse except that the look in Jack's eyes as they came back into the Hub sent shivers down her spine and meant that she hasn't been able to concentrate on her mundane paperwork all afternoon. She doesn't like to think of him, alone wherever he is. He looked ready to kill someone.

"Has anyone seen Jack?" she asks now, trying to sound disinterested.

"Miserable bastard probably sulking somewhere," Owen remarks uncharitably. Miserable isn't exactly the right word for Captain Jack Harkness, but Owen's just letting off steam. None of them are particularly pleased about what happened today, and Owen's method of anger management is to vent quite forcefully.

Gwen wonders what Jack's method is.

"I'll just finish up here." She gestures to the forms lying on her desk. "It shouldn't take me long. You go ahead, I'll catch up."

"Oh Gwen!" Owen groans, but heads towards the door. "Don't take too long, it's your round."

"Shut up!" Gwen gives a snort of laughter. "Time to dust the moths off your wallet, Harper, you've been avoiding paying up for months!"

Ianto hesitates in the doorway. "Will you be alright on your own?" He looks unsure whether to leave her here or not.

Gwen nods firmly. "Fine. Anyway, Jack's around somewhere, isn't he?" She hopes so; she doesn't really fancy being around here all on her own, and she'll have to hang around for a bit to make it look like she's really stayed to finish up her work and not just so she can hunt down their elusive leader.

Ianto shrugs. "I assume so. He might not turn up for a while though. See you later."

Gwen fusses with things on her desk for a while and then takes a wander up to Jack's office. He isn't in it, but she knew that from looking through the glass walls down on the ground. He hasn't been in it all afternoon, which is unusual for him. No matter how annoyed he gets, he's still usually around, keeping an eye on everything. Everybody. He sometimes stands in his office looking out, like some sort of guardian angel. He never looks so peaceful as when he's doing that.

So, he's not in the office. Or anywhere within sight. Gwen feels her heart sink. She's going to have to head down into the many tunnels and caverns that make up Torchwood Cardiff's base. It isn't that she's afraid… well, it is that. She hates going down there alone, she doesn't know why. It just sometimes feels like there's something down there, in the darkness, something just watching and waiting. She doesn't know what for, and a year ago she'd have firmly pinched herself and then tossed her hair back and gone in anyway, albeit with her police truncheon at the ready. Now though… Gwen knows all too well of the possibilities of what could be in the shadows.

She begins in the cells. Jack sometimes stays down here, talking to whatever captives they have. Even though all they have now is the new Weevil and the one they've had so long that he's practically become a mascot for the team, there's still a possibility he might be there. Gwen doesn't know why, but Jack always seems extra-compassionate towards the Weevils, like he understands them or something. For everyone else they're becoming more a nuisance than anything else, though they still manage to make Gwen feel uncomfortable when she looks into those predatory eyes. But for Jack, he treats them in a way he sometimes forgets to treat humans: as victims, lost souls.

He isn't down there though, and Gwen leaves the cells quickly, trying to shut her ears to the guttural tones of the Weevils. Her heart sinks even further; the base stretches for miles, she's not sure exactly how far. She always gets the impression that nobody quite knows, that the base could extend under the whole of Cardiff without anyone realising. There's no way she'll ever find him if he doesn't want to be found.

Half-heartedly, she begins walking down a familiar corridor, not expecting great success, but hoping nonetheless. Her positivity is rewarded as she hears muffled gunshots. She quickens her pace down to the firing range where she was trained to use all the guns she now takes for granted.

There he is, back to her, earphones on. He's taken off his coat, and Gwen can see it flung on the floor in a corner. She can only imagine what it smells like by now; all that rain is bound to have made the wool reveal some of the secrets of just where that coat, and Jack, has been. He's taken off that sleeveless jacket he wears too, the one that Owen more often than not refers to as a waistcoat and claims is conclusive proof that Jack is, in his words, "a card-carrying friend of Dorothy". Gwen still isn't sure she buys into that description of him. She can see Owen's point but still… there's something about Jack that makes her think again. That makes her think that he's something that labels just can't be put on.

He raises a gun again now and fires off a round of bullets which hit their targets with unerring accuracy. He's a good shot, Gwen will give him that much, but there's something about the way he's firing tonight. If anyone on the team is a little trigger happy, it's Owen; Gwen can imagine that his dream at six was to be Action Man, the Greatest Hero of Them All™, and that he still can't quite believe he's really holding a gun. Jack's normally much more laid about his weapons; he uses them, as and when they're needed, but he doesn't seem to much revel in them. Now though, he's shooting wildly, at any of the targets, one after the other, as though it doesn't matter what he hits, or how often, it'll never be enough.

Gwen hesitates and waits until he pauses to reload. Then she pushes the door open and steps into the room. It takes Jack a few seconds to turn round, the earphones stopping him hearing her until she's only a few steps behind him. Gwen can see all the muscles in his back tighten through his white shirt as he faces her.

"Gwen." He pulls the earphones and protective goggles off. He glances at the watch on his wrist. "It's late, what are you still doing here?"

"Everyone else has gone for a drink." Gwen gestures over her shoulder, suddenly unsure under the scrutiny of those blue eyes. "I was just…"

"Thanks but no thanks." Jack brushes her off with clipped words, and reaches down for his gun again.

Gwen rubs her right foot down the back of her left leg, biting her lip anxiously. "Jack, are you alright?"

He looks at her again, and produces that smile, the one that Gwen can believe would get him out of any scrape he found himself in. "I'm fine. Go." He turns away again. For him, the conversation is over.

_Hey, what you got to hide?  
I get angry too._

_Well I'm a lot like you._

"You don't look fine." With his back to her, Gwen finds it easier to say what she really means. As he looks at her again, she looks down at the ground. "I mean…" She searches for the right words. "Jack, this isn't you."

"Isn't it?"

Gwen can't answer that question. She doesn't have the authority at all. Because she doesn't know who he is, not really. He's Captain Jack Harkness, leader of Torchwood 3. But that's it, he never offers anymore information. There's the odd remark, but they always sound so improbable and yet… Gwen almost believes that what he says is true, that he has been to the places he mentions, that he's seen what he talks of. She believes he can't die; it's not such a great leap to believe all the other stuff.

"You're hiding something."

Jack looks at her again. "Aren't we all?"

"No!"

Jack raises his eyebrows. "Oh. So you told Rhys about your new job, right? I must have missed the memo."

Gwen glowers at him. Strange, how she's able to be so concerned about him one minute and ready to thump him the next. "Funny. That isn't my choice not to tell him."

"So what's stopping you?"

"You, for one."

Jack shrugs. "None of my business. What you do or don't tell your boyfriend is up to you."

Gwen looks at Jack. "I can't tell him. He'd never understand."

Jack nods. "Exactly. And you'll never understand either."

"I could try!" Gwen hates being told she wouldn't understand. "Tell me, maybe I would!"

"And maybe you wouldn't."

Gwen looks up at him. "Give me a chance, Jack." She can see his resolve is weakening, that he's close to letting go. All she has to do is wait.

_When you're standing at the crossroads_

_And__ don't know which path to choose,_

_Let me come along._

_Cause even if you're wrong_

"Today was a mess."

Gwen nods. "I know. But we got through it."

"A girl died, Gwen!" His reminder is harsh and makes Gwen bristle with indignation.

"I know that!"

"I'd hardly call that getting through."

In spite of herself, Gwen has to hide a smile.

"What?" Jack catches the fleeting curve of her mouth.

"Nothing, it's just…" Gwen can't believe the shift in roles. "I usually have to remind you of that. It sounds odd coming out of your mouth."

Jack sits down on a chair, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands over his face. "I guess you must be having an influence on me." He sits back, almost nonchalantly, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. "I made a bad call today."

"You made a difficult call," Gwen corrects.

"I was too busy chasing after my own imagination to notice what was going on," Jack insists. "If I hadn't made you all charge around looking for that alien tech, then-"

"What? We might have made it in time to save Kerry?" Gwen shakes her head. "Jack, the autopsy said she'd been dead for hours."

"That's not the point."

"It is the point, Jack!" Gwen snaps rather unkindly and then tries to control her temper. "You weren't to know what would happen. Shit happens. We just have to deal with it."

Jack looks at her, a twinkle in those sad eyes. "You sound very brutal tonight, Gwen Cooper."

"Well, one of us has to be," Gwen says. "You made a bad choice. Everyone has off days." Unable to contain her curiosity she adds, "Jack, what were we looking for today? You never said." Quite how he'd expected them to find alien tech without knowing what they were searching for she has no idea. It was just something she took for granted at the time.

Jack sighs heavily, and for a moment he seems more real than Gwen has ever seen him, more… Jack. She can't explain it. It's like layers of him have fallen away leaving only the essence of him. The true concentrated Jack.

"I don't know," he says finally. "I thought…" Then he clams up, and Gwen knows she won't hear anymore. He's such an enigma, and so mysterious with it. That he's let her in this far is amazing.

After a period of silence, he stands up. "Well, you better get going if you're going to catch up with the others. Is Dr Harper opening his wallet up?"

Gwen smiles. "I doubt it, you know Owen." She's glad to see Jack smile back. She's so lost in his smile that she forgets what she's supposed to be doing.

"Gwen?" he prompts her. "Are you going?"

Gwen's about to reply when she looks at him again. That was a real question he asked, not an order disguised as a question like usual. He's asking if she's going. Or not.

"No. I… I thought I might stay for a bit actually. If that's alright." She waits anxiously for his reply. She doesn't want to go to the pub. She doesn't want to go home. She wants to stay right here.

Jack pushes something into her hands. She looks down to find a pair of earphones and goggles.

"I suppose you could do with the practice."

She frowns and then sees a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he turns to pick his own gear up. She smiles back.

_I'll stand by you_

_I'll stand by you._

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you._

_Take me into your darkest hour_

_And I'll never desert you._

_I'll stand by you.

* * *

_

_And when, when the night falls on you, baby,_

_You're feeling all alone._

_You won't be on your own._

Martha can't sleep. She's always been quite a light sleeper, even more so recently. It's all so new and exciting, it's like she daren't sleep for fear that she'll miss something. She's still not sure who this man is that she's come along with. He tells her he's the Doctor. That he's the last of the Time Lords. That his home's gone. She's seen him do some wonderful things. But she still doesn't know him. Every time she thinks she's getting closer to him, like he's about to turn to her and… well, she doesn't know what, let her in? Treat her like a friend instead of an acquaintance? Every time, something shuts down inside of him. Those delicious brown eyes cloud over with the memory of something. Someone. Rose.

That first day, he was so quick to say it. _"Rose. Her name was Rose. Not that you're replacing her."_ It had never crossed Martha's mind. But it clearly preys on his mind. This Rose is never far from his mind, haunting his every move, his every word, his every thought. Martha wonders who she was, who could do this to a man like the Doctor, someone who seems so invincible. Brought down by a woman.

She leaves the room she's been sleeping in lately, trying to remember the right way to the kitchen for a glass of water. God, she complains about her tiny flat back home, but at least it doesn't take her twenty minutes to find a tap. Now, she's fairly certain it's this way…

She finds him in the control room, lounging in the chair, his feet on the console panel, looking utterly lost. There's no other word for it. He doesn't even notice she's in the room until she hesitantly clears his throat. He jumps about two foot in the air and hurriedly rubs a hand over his face.

"Martha. What are you doing up?"

"I was getting a glass of water," Martha explains. "Only I sort of got lost." She laughs self-consciously. "This place should come with satellite navigation or something."

The Doctor smiles, weakly. "It's been a long day. You should get some sleep."

Martha nods. "What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm alright." He stands up with a flourish of his heels and pulls a few levers like that proves he's fine. But Martha's not stupid; she may not have known him long but she knows when he's trying to avoid answering a question properly.

"Are you though, Doctor?"

"Yes _doctor_," he teases.

Martha smiles. "I'm not a doctor yet."

"And you never will be if you don't get some sleep." He gestures back down the corridor she came down. "The kitchen's third turning on the left, straight past the laundry, fifth door on the right." He turns back to the control panel and pretends to fiddle with something. Martha knows he's only pretending because the TARDIS isn't complaining about it. It gives her a chance to look at him though. And she sees a man who isn't alright at all. That's very far from alright and yet won't admit it. It isn't just Rose, it's everything. Suddenly Martha doesn't want to leave him.

"I'm not that thirsty actually," she says, moving back towards the control panel. "Or tired. I think I might just… sit actually. Here." She slides onto the seat hesitantly. "If that's alright."

He doesn't say it is.

But he doesn't say it isn't either. And, for now, Martha will settle for that silence.

_I'll stand by you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Won't let nobody hurt you_

_I'll stand by you_

_Take me into your darkest hour_

_And I'll never desert you_

_I'll stand by you._


End file.
